“I did say that yer just like yer auntie,” he says with a wide smug smile.
It deepens his dimple, and again I'm shellshocked by his incredible face when he's happy. It's the same look he had when he saw the baby deer, making him alluring... irresistible... attractive.
“You did,” I smile, relishing his attention. His focus is warm and affectionate.
“Yer auntie's definitely a lady, and I dare say I'm proud tae ha'e yer on ma arm, Ellindt.” To emphasize his point, he offers me his elbow, waiting for me to put my arm through his.
Instead I rest my hand in the crook of it and lean in against his shoulder, “Thank god that's over. Is everyone here that welcoming?”
For some reason he finds that statement hilarious, breaking the creepy night with a bellowing laugh.
*
Douglas:
Settling down on the logs surrounding the fire, I introduce her tae the elected cook fer the evening, “Ellindt, this is Stuart. Stuart, this is Ellindt.”
She leans over, shaking his hand, “You can call me Ellie.”
“Good tae meet ye,” he nods, giving me a look of envy.
Then she smiles at me, tucking the hair back behind her shoulder because it fell forward with her movement, brushing the damp earth with the glossy ends of it. “You can call me Ellie too. I keep feeling like we're being too formal.”
“Ellie, mmm, I like the sound of that.”
Wedging her hand between both of mine, I examine her eyes, worriet she's putting on a brave face fer me. I'm goin' tae skin Heather the next time I see her. “Are you warm enough?”
Her hand doesn't feel cold, which is unusual for a tourist. Autumn is here and tonight is fairly chilly, but she seems tae be coping okay.
“I'm fine,” she smiles, and for the thousandth time since meeting her I am captured in her eyes, mesmerized by their bewitching clarity.
Breaking our gaze I stare into the flickering flames of the fire, relieved no one else is gathered out here. “Have ye ever had a Scottish tattie?”
I can see them sitting between the wood coals, already crusted with black carbon.
“I doubt it,” she murmurs, leaning her head onto my shoulder and snuggling in.
Our legs are stretched out together, side by side, our ankles locked, with our feet stacked on top of each other like old friends.
That's just it, she disnae feel like a stranger tae me. She feels like someone I've known ma whole life. Mebbe that's why we have this connection? Why I want tae protect her and failed miserably at it when I had the chance.
“What's a tattie?” she asks, sounding relaxed.
It's probably the Skull Splitter, it's 8.5 percent proof and she disnae seem like the kind of lass tae indulge in alcoholic libations frequently.
“A potato.” Looking at Stuart, I ask, “Stu, dae ye have a plate and stuff close by?”
He nods, nudging his head tae indicate behind the log he's sitting on, and I spy the kitchen supplies.
“Any tatties ready?” I smile.
“Aye,” he grins, seeming to enjoy getting in on watching Ellindt sample her first tattie done the old fashioned way. He stakes one in the heart of the fire, withdrawing it and shaking it off onto a plate. To an outsider it looks like he's just served her a black coal tae eat.
Leaning over he hands it tae me with a kitchen knife and the carving fork. With an evil grin he passes the salt and butter.
Unhooking my legs from hers, I bend my knees up tae balance the crockery, gesturing tae the smoking black rock on the plate. “This is a tattie.”
Slicing it in half, I show her the steaming smoked flesh, “Ye hav'nae had a tattie until ye've had one of these.”
It's striated with brown smoke smears from the fire. Cutting into it crisscross, I carefully drop a knob of butter ontae each open half, sprinkle it with salt, then hand the utensils and condiments back to Stu. “De ye ha'e a spoon or sumthin?”
He's anticipated that already, and it's in his left hand when he leans over for the exchange.
I offer the spoon to Ellie, “Go on, have a wee taste.”
Looking doubtfully up at me through long black eyelashes, it dawns on me that she's no' wearing a shred of makeup. What an unusual lass. I'm glad she isnae. I dinnae like the stuff. I don't care fer it at all, and my thoughts dive straight onto her plump lips the color of rowan buds. No distasteful lipstick stains them.
She's a queen among commoners this lass is. And she can fight like a pro. I think I may have just fallen knee deep into the love swamp.
Scraping out a morsel, she blows on it carefully, pursing her lips intae such a cute pucker I find myself leaning closer, the warmth from the fire blushing her cheeks, making the starlight in her hair dance, warming her perfume so it wraps itself intae my jacket, intae my hair where she leans on it.
Popping the spoon intae her mouth, I'm aware I'm holding my breath while my stomach dances a wee jig of attraction. I wish Stuart wasnae here right now.
“Uhm, oh wow! That's delicious. I thought it'd taste horrid but it's like hot wood smoked potato, all creamy from the butter, the inside so flaky it just melts across my tongue.”
My heart is compressing at the thought of her hot tongue and I lean a little lower, a little closer, so close her breath washes across my lips.
“Oi!” smashes the intimate moment, and I snap defensively upright, looking right at the cold brews Roddie is offering to us, the necks of the bottles snug between his fingers. At the same time he passes one tae Stuart from the two in his other hand.
I need tae get out o' here. I'll never have two minutes alone with Ellindt in this crowd.
Taking them, I put them down on the ground, cracking hers open for her and passing it tae her, “You might need this efter that hot spud.”
“What about you? Aren't you having any?”
I shake my head, I'm too in lust tae have an appetite. All I need tae feed my soul is staring into my heart right this second and I just want tae take ye somewhere quiet, like the woods, laying down on the heather with ye tae stare up at the stars.
“Naw, I'm no hungry tae be honest,” I say instead, opening my own beer and watching Roddie sit on the log opposite ours, staring broodingly at Ellindt.
He is a man on a mission and I'm beginning tae wish he'd just butt out. Giving me a wretched smile, he says, “Have yer fed her black puddin' yet?”
“Pudding?” she says, pulling the spoon out between her luscious lips where she was absently sucking on it, watching us. “I love pudding.”
Roddie laffs, knowing the inside joke, “Oh yeah? Well then ye ha'e tae try black pudding.”
She looks innocently up at me, “Why's it called black? What's in it?”
Swallowing thickly, I hate that Roddie's makin' fun of her ignorance. “Blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
“And oats. Oats sanctifies everythin', even blood,” says Rod, with a smile darker than Satan's.
Ignoring him, she keeps her gaze locked with mine, her eyes wide, baring her soul tae me, and in a tiny whisper she says, “I like blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
Chapter 7
Ellindt:
The look on Doug's face is a mixture of horror and appalled curiosity.
Laughing, I squeeze his leg, “I'm kidding. Crikey, you should see your face.”
Glancing in Roddie's direction, my nerves ice over. He looks like a wrathful god sitting in the mist behind a shield of leaping flame, and there's movement beyond his left shoulder.
Solidifying behind him is a woman with hair so black she looks like she's coming to claim his soul. Reed thin, with skin paler than the fog, she puts her hand on his head, and I hold my breath expecting him to slump in sudden death, but instead he ducks his head when she ruffles his hair.
“Fiona, if ye dae that again I'm going tae break that hand,” he snarls, annoyance plain to see in the screwed up scowl across his forehead.
She giggles, taking the spot next to him on the felled log serving as seating, drawing bony knees up tight to her chest to stare at us in open fascination.
Doug clears his throat, gesturing to her, “Ellie, this is Fiona, Roddie's little sister. Fee, this is Ellindt.”
I look from the tall hulk to the tiny waif nestled against him. She's the size of an elf. He has the look of robust health and pique physical condition, and his sister looks like she survives on a cup of milk a week. She's anemic looking, her gaunt features stretching alabaster skin taut over high cheekbones and magnifying her dark eyes into big and terrified.
She nods at me, her raccooned eyes surveying me from under thick bangs. Her hair is completely straight, hanging like a straw curtain of dyed pitch to her elbows.
“Hallo,” she says.
“Hi,” I smile, glancing quickly in Doug's direction.
He's staring at me with a hard look, a faint frown wrinkling his brow.
These people amaze me. They call blood, pudding? They like it. They
want
to consume it. Maybe we're not so different after all. Maybe this is why I feel like I've come home.
But it now dawns on me after an hour of seeing local faces, that Doug looks half Scandinavian. His hair is dark blond underneath and tawny blond on top. It has a toasted barley tinge to it which is amber in sunlight. Yet his eyebrows are sandy and his stubble is so fair it's the shade of my own hair.
My eyelashes and eyebrows are naturally dark, but his aren't. And yet everyone I've seen here tonight has dark hair, even the blonds. Heather's hair was clearly dyed, as were a few other girls.
One thing that does seem normal is the auburn haired strain that runs through their genes, and I remember once reading that only black hair has that ability. If both parents come from a line of black haired folk, they can sometimes have a child with red hair. It doesn't happen if you have brunette or blond parents. Only the black hair gene makes a redhead.
Now I'm wondering if one of Doug's parents has black hair for him to get the copper tone in his hair. And everyone else fits the specs for dark hair genes. I'm a natural blond and I'm sitting with the only other natural blond here.
I've seen skinny, slight, short, fat, tall, huge, their bodies are every kind, but one thing is common, gray eyes, dark hair. Or dark eyes, dark hair. I thought this land was full of fair headed girls and boys, but they're like so many other nations, only the children have blond hair which browns as they age.
Looking back at Doug, I ask, “So, do you cook blood pudding? What is it exactly?”
*
Douglas
:
She says she's kidding, giving me a naughty smile, her eyes verily sparkling with glee. I believe she likes tae joke like that just tae shock people, except now Roddie's gone and planted that crazy idea in my heid and the more I think on it, the more I think he's mebbe right.
He says she's like the goddess from Skye, who is well known for flashing her boobs at sailors. In order to pass her island she made the sailors pay a toll fee. In thanks she'd flash them and let them pass. It earned her quite the reputation.
And just like Sgathach, Ellindt joked when we arrived that she'd just flash the lads and then no one would care about anything else.
Sgathach was also responsible fer teaching the art of fightin' tae many an aspiring warrior, including Cu Cullain, and in less than an hour Ellindt has displayed her fightin' ability.
She made that squab with Heather look deid easy when we all know Heather MacFarlane is worse than the lads when it comes tae planting a black eye on a whelp who looked at her wrong. She isnae a walkover and yet Ellindt whipped her in one move.
It cannae be coincidence.
If anyone would know, it's me. My family originally come from the Isle of Skye. Dunvegan castle has been held by ma cousins fer over seven hundred years, and it's a protected family tale of how one of my ancestors married a faery. Those fierce sidhe protected the castle and the land from falling into foreign hands.
My family know all about the fierce goddess from Skye, we know all about how beautiful the fey are and how they dinnae mind marrying humans. It's in ma blood. I have a sidhe ancestor and she gave birth to a boy.
I'm Sìol Tormoid.
Ellindt even spoke down tae Heather, as if she knows she's fey royalty and Heather isnae, and then gave me that wee speech about being a lady.
Her auntie looks like them tae. All long moonbeam hair, crystal eyes, skin like a pearl, and a voice gaelic was born fer. The way they speak ye just want tae close yer eyes and listen tae the lullaby. It does strange things tae ma heart and mind. It's intoxicatin'.
Ellindt feels familiar because ma blood recognizes her.
When she holds my gaze I'm instantly aware I'm staring at her, frownin', and quickly smile back, not wanting her tae know we're ontae her wee secret.
One of the rules of Highland engagement is the head blow. Ye win the fight when there is blood within an inch of the eyebrow, and she just said so casual how she likes blood, lots and lots of blood. She's a warrior. She's been droppin' all the right hints. Ellindt is either Sgathach reincarnated, or she comes from the same bloodline as the sidhe.
“So do you cook blood pudding? What is it exactly?”
Her hand is still on ma leg and I can feel the heat scorching down tae the bone. She's hot, unnaturally hot.
“We cook it,” I nod. Looking at Stuart, I ask, “De yae ha'e any blood puddin' ready yet?”
He looks impatient, handing me a clay oven dish.
Lifting the lid, I offer a slice of the sausage tae Ellindt, “Try a piece.”
I take one fer mysel', then offer it tae Fee and Roddie.
Handing the dish back tae Stu, I watch Ellindt eat hers, washing it down with a sip of her beer.
“It's not bad,” she nods, leaning against my side again as if tired. She stares for a long time intae the fire before glancing at Fiona and Roddie.
They're talking quietly taegether, their heids touching. I know he's givin' her an earful fer smoking weed, but that lass just can't seem tae stay outtae trouble.
That's when I spy her coming and grip my beer, sayin' tae Ellindt, “I think we should go.”